


Single Bounty Hunter Seeking Samurai

by completetheory



Category: Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Other, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Porn with Politics, Tentacle Dick, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, cross-faction, it's the only kind I'm capable of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22566991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completetheory/pseuds/completetheory
Summary: Everybody's got secrets, but it's far easier to keep them when you think you'll have ample time to divulge them later. A near brush with a tricky bounty and Fracture realizes there's more to Drift than meets surface level assumptions.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Fracture
Kudos: 3





	Single Bounty Hunter Seeking Samurai

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadScientific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadScientific/gifts).



> A reupload of an older fic, edited for slightly better grammar, clarity, and sentence structure.

There were two rules for avoiding trouble on New Cybertron, identical to the rules of prewar Old Cybertron. 

Rule one was _'get out of the way'._ A list of 'don't' subroutines followed; don't ask questions, don't impede the cops, don't film them, don't argue with them. If there were bounty hunters, don't get in their way, either, but they were no worse than the police, and some liked to be filmed, for street cred. The first rule was for anyone who hadn't yet bought trouble. 

Rule two was for lawbreakers. _'Don't get caught.'_ Do run, do kill, do take hostages. And some of the accused were quicker, smarter, stronger. Most were desperate, and ran through blazing magma streams to disguise their tracks, or scanned new modes, changed their paint and hid quaking in plain sight. Some blew across ten lane highways in screaming flight from the consequences of the Old Council on New Cybertron. 

All ran, always, from the stasis cells that yawned like open graves, ready to swallow everything they were. 

Thieves, castebreakers, unlicensed doctors, embezzlers, mobsters and 'subversives' ran, and the police force on Cybertron was stretched to the breaking point. Bounty hunters often served as paid compensation for the short-staffing of police. 

Fracture vaulted over two benches in the Palladium district, catching up to the bipedal target through a combination of shortcuts and parkour. She brought up an onboard schematic of the borough, waiting until her prize was out of bounds before she bothered warming up her blaster. 

If a hunter broke a _window_ in that upcaste neighborhood, they'd be cooling off in a pod for _reckless endangerment_ as likely as their target. Fracture had a taste of stasis imprisonment during the Earth debacle with Optimus Prime. It was unpleasant beyond words: the cold, claustrophobia, sudden unconsciousness and missing time, to wake up before of the Council, whose judgmental scrap she had enough of even when she returned with a job well done.

But her quarry had erred in turning left - the minicon slums beckoned, and no lawbot wasted an ounce of fuel to investigate that neighborhood. She pulsed a warning to her own minis, docked and ready, and they returned silent readiness signals. 

The small Huntpecker bounty was losing steam - Fracture saw promising fatigue in his limbs. Thirty feet. Twenty. So close, she could almost touch, and then... it all went wrong.

Too late, she recognized a trap. How deliberately she'd been led to the cul-de-sac, as the Huntpecker's fatigue gave way to a burst of flapping that carried him up to perch on a thick-built Buffaloid who had no business in the minicon slums. 

Fracture took the Buffaloid's horn in the shoulder, with enough time to be thankful it **didn't** insta-kill Divebomb, mere inches away, and then the Buffaloid threw her through a window like a crash test dummy. Breaking glass, the disorientation of static, and a bad feeling that the Buffaloid was not going to stop until directed. 

This bounty had become expensive. Very Solus-damned expensive. 

She ripped open an epoxy canister with her teeth, inexpertly patching the wound, and rolled over in time to greet the Buffaloid charging in with three rounds of blasterfire. This was a sloppy performance; it was the sort of display that sent novice bounty hunters, 'retired', to the scrapheap. 

On the street, Fracture had no real advantage, but she liked her odds better out there. In this building there was little maneuvering room, and an unlucky strike could tear out her spark chamber. Her minicons felt her pain as she stood, sending microbeats of concern and desire to join battle, but she firmly nixed plans that involved them disconnecting yet. 

Ironic that this Buffaloid and Huntpecker team seemed to have a symbiotic relationship in the same sense that she did with her minicons. 

She lunged to one side and dove out the window, stumbling on the dismount of what should have been an easy drop. Energon levels were holding, but the shock had screwed her nerve. She considered the possibility of separating the target from his brawny protector, gun warm in her hands. The Buffaloid was _blazingly_ fast for a heavy bot. 

The Buffaloid came at her again, snorting aggressive steam, barely scratched from her earlier blasterfire. Fracture stepped around a felled communications pole, taking aim in hopes of inconveniencing a vulnerable part, like an optic or glowing biostripe. She barely avoided another dead-on hit: the metal horn ripped a wide hole through the thin armor of her right arm. It went numb, but Fracture could still transform, and fleeing looked more attractive all the time. 

This was just so _personal_ now that it was hard to draw back until the Buffaloid turned, and she realized she'd only made her quarry's protector _angrier._

"Primus!" Fracture swore, disengaging Divebomb and Airazor at last. The two missiles headed for the threat fearlessly, but Fracture's goal was no longer incapaitation, if it were even possible. "Distract them! We'll reconvene in Cardinal Station!" 

The minicons stumbled the Buffaloid as Fracture ran, slinging her gun across her back and integrating it into her alt when she transformed. Unbelievable! From the tremors, her teammates had bought her only _seconds._ What the fuck was this thing made of? 

_Run. Run, don't panic, avoid the loose bricks, ignore the energon leaking from that arm, that'll heal up fine, ignore the hot venting down your neck--_

The Buffaloid flipped her back tire and threw her, and she transformed mid-air in an orientation attempt, caught a fire-escape, and halfway broke the fall into an alleyway. The other broken half was her: two struts snapped, suspension was misaligned, and no longer transformation-capable.

Well, fuck.

It from a sure thing, to an embarrassment, to a potentially fatal FUBAR. And the Huntpecker was laughing like the audience of the gladiatorial pits, an annoying hoo-hoo-ha-hoo-hoo that she really didn't want to be the last sound she ever heard. She was still armed, for all the good that would do. 

The Buffaloid stopped. Confused, looking around. Their eyesight wasn't that poor; Fracture knew her enemy could see her. No - someone else, moving toward the Buffaloid like an avenging spirit, like... a pompous windbag Autobot. Sweet Primes, no. Fucking Drift? _Really?_

He scored the Buffaloid's back with both swords, likely to get her attention, because there was no way his blades were doing real damage against that thick paneling. The Buffaloid looked idly inconvenienced, and with a _caw_ from the Huntpecker, lumbered out of the alley to handle the new threat. 

Not all Buffaloids were true to stereotype - some were incredibly intelligent. Most were hampered by poor social circumstances and lack of education (as a caste system was wont to do - they were created and educated to be _bouncers_ ), but this was a run-of-the-mill individual, happy to obey. Fortunately for Drift, who shot Slipstream into the Huntpecker. The minicon went down with her prey, slugging the bounty into involuntary recharge, and the Buffaloid went from peeved to panicky in moments.

"Your partner is being arrested." Drift warned, "You may leave."

The Buffaloid _snarled,_ not impressed by that offer, and threw herself loyally at Drift, whose speed was the better of the two. Meanwhile Slipstream held up their quarry.

Drift was unimpressed. "Not now! Focus!" 

Slipstream obliged, indicating Fracture, "Master, what should we do about--" 

"Student. What is the _primary problem?_ " 

"Ah..." Slipstream noted the rampaging Buffaloid. 

"Very good!" The Buffaloid's lack of strategy might get the better of Drift from pure misfortune, "Ignore Fracture!"

Fracture scowled, and levered herself up onto one leg with Divebomb's help. _Ignore Fracture, will you, you pretentious ass?_ She scanned the environment, taking aim at a power pole. Drift was a worthy distraction, but alone he'd never defeat her. 

Thank Solus that Fracture could return the 'favor' of saving his life, so he couldn't gloat. A well-placed shot brought down the cables, and the voltage through the mains brought down the Buffaloid. Not the most professional job, but after that fiasco, she'd take what she could get. 

Drift looked to be assessing Fracture's wellness, but knowing him, he was gauging the likelihood of a fight before claiming her bounty. He always took the same damn bounties she did; sometimes it was endearing, but mostly it was irritating. This time, she'd bled for it, and deserved the reward. Drift had a lucky break, that was all. 

To her surprise, Drift offered out the Huntpecker to Fracture without an argument. "Here." 

Fracture accepted, because you never delayed long as a Decepticon, whatever was given could just as easily be snatched away. "What's the catch, Drift? You hit your head during that fight?" 

"No." Drift's attention was - disconcertingly - on her injuries, "But you did. You may spend a significant amount on a medical professional. Slipstream, return to me." 

"Master! Are we just _giving_ her--?" The minicon stopped at Drift's expression, transformed, and returned to the maxicon's docking point. 

Fracture didn't know what to make of the situation, and her own minicons returned to their docks as well, neither worse for wear.

Drift turned to go, just like that. 

"Wait, hold on. You--" _Weakness! Vulnerability! Cover it up, quickly._ "...You're not going to walk me back to my ship, in this condition? You call that honor?" 

Drift's face was unreadable, but his decision (likely with internal minicon discussion) was calm. "Lead the way." 

Not only did he _walk her to her ship_ , but he didn't push his way inside. Gone was the blustering ass who goaded her with 'superior Autobot morality', and whose swordplay felt self-taught every time they came to blows. Here was a mild warrior, _beyond all rationale_ , concerned about her. Had anyone ever been concerned about her, besides her minicons? Fracture couldn't recall. 

"Come inside." She couldn't believe her luck, determined to press it. The Huntpecker was imprisoned in a stasis cell, and she squelched the empathetic chill that she felt. These cells were necessary. The last thing she wanted was develop a complex. 

"You are hurt." Drift persisted. "You need medical attention, Fracture. Your minicons can pilot your ship to the nearest facility." 

Fracture limped her way to the nanite bath, disengaging her minis as suggested, and sighed as the nanites took the edge off the pain. "They won't treat me. I wouldn't refuse your offer, but I'm a Decepticon, remember. The hospitals are Autobot only. I'd have to go down to Kaon for some hackjob who can't work anywhere else for all his malpractice suits, probably." 

If that rained on Drift's parade, so be it. She didn't feel grateful to an Autobot, whose people had turned Cybertron into _this._ She sank down into the tub and bubbled under it, her headspines flexing. Everything was sore, except her curiosity, to see how Drift would take that. 

He admitted, "It has been some time since I visited a medical facility in Kaon. They are worse now than during the War." 

That was a weird statement. The way Drift was acting overall was weird, but she didn't pursue it, "Everything is worse after the War." Just in case he spent so much time off planet that it had escaped him. 

Divebomb brought a blowtorch for her to weld up her arm, and Drift approached as she struggled to do it one-handed. 

"Let me help you." Four words, commonplace individually but _completely alien_ to her in sequence. She stared up at him silently. Then she handed him the blowtorch and held up her arm, almost in challenge. _Sure. Go ahead. I won't say thank you._

Bizarre. First he gave over a bounty, then listened to her criticize Autobots, and Cybertron, without blowing a gasket about 'unworthy Decepticon scum'. Now he was offering his assistance, without insisting she see a Bot doctor. He believed her? This was ...irregular. She had to ask. 

"Are you a shifter? Because your Drift impression is terrible."

He slathered cool, healing metal across the rent and used the blowtorch to soften it up, like the epoxy trick, but more sophisticated. He had a gentle touch, a kindness she hadn't seen in Drift (or at all), and his welding technique was decent. Much better than his sword-fighting technique... What a mess.

He shook his head, "Shifters cannot replicate minicons." As if that was how she could tell. Fracture felt that maybe - if she was bold enough - she could get something out of this. 

They'd been thwarting one another for decades, and she'd never seen Drift drop his guard like this, but _he'd_ never seen her this badly damaged. Maybe she wasn't the only one who regretted how often her eyes lingered on her rival's form, and how frustratingly attractive he was. The adrenaline and the positive signals combined to make her even more brassy than usual.

"Are you _worried_ about me?" She asked, in a sultry voice, as he smoothed down the metal and set the torch aside. 

"Yes." His honesty wasn't atypical, but he was usually criticizing, so _positive_ honesty was odd. 

This would be so much easier with negotiated whips, chains and ballgags. She was a fool to think he _cared,_ but the evidence pointed to more than wishful processing. Why else would he worry about a rival, a Decepticon? Honor didn't decree anything like this, not even his bargain-bin version.

"Show me the rest." He urged, his voice oddly soft, despite the phrasing as a command, "You had trouble standing, did you break your leg?" 

"I think it's the hipjoint, but it's not broken. I walked back fine. It's just popped out of alignment, and that much I can do myself." It would _hurt_ , and that was why she'd waited for the nanite infusion. She twisted, _forced_ pressure down onto the socket, felt it resist and then click with a horrible grind that she could feel in the back of her throat. "Ggh! There." She looked up at him all happy teeth.

The grin faded when she registered his genuine concern, and she recovered with embarrassment. "Anyway... We're even now. You saved my life and I saved yours, so you can take your life debt and--" 

"Life debts are nonsense." He interjected, "Believe me, I am not here to play nonsense games with you, Fracture." 

She wanted to play some games, adult games, with potential adult consequences. Risky, but sex wasn't out of the question. She evaluated him, reaching up to stroke his mustache with one daring fingertip. He didn't discourage her. 

"I thought life debts were a samurai thing." He'd always struck her as a parody of a samurai, though authentically a ronin in the official, masterless sense. He had katana, wakizashi and all the armor accouterments, the maedate. But there was an aura of exaggeration about his behavior, his words, and interactions. And every so often, something blatantly fake, like life debts, cropped up and she'd put money on him giving people what shallow aspects they expected to see.

The twinkle in his eye was not imaginary. "Life debts are my excuse to examine bounties more carefully before deciding if I should take them in. We both know that Bumblebee did not save my life from you, Fracture."

She floundered. It was one thing to blow his own cover and admit to trolling the entire Cybertronian population, but to blow _hers_ was inexcusable. Especially in front of her minis, who were giggling to themselves. "I'd love to know what proof you have of that." She sank down into the nanite liquid again as if it could hide her shame. 

"You are the superior fighter. That is not the first time you delayed, gloated, and played with me." Drift was bland, "Your words about 'finishing me for good' are bombast. You have had ample opportunity." 

The idea of Drift calling **anyone** else bombastic made her giggle, in semi-hysterical amusement that so much of this abruptly made sense. The weird behavior that he called honorable, like stealing her bounties and then not taking them in, (And Bumblebee didn't officially stop being a criminal when Drift decided to work with him!), how he looked so concerned about her injuries, treating her like a friend instead of an enemy... 

"How much were you faking?" She asked, grabbing at his arm, pulling him close, almost close enough to kiss. The steam from the nanite bath fogged up his optics and disguised, fairly well, how hot his vents were blowing. "All of it, Drift?" 

"I _am_ a samurai, Fracture. And, I like meditation. Most of that personality is a role that I play for the benefit of others, so that they underestimate me and think me ignorant. I treat my minicons with disregard to see if any will speak up in their defense - they are former criminals, and far smarter than they act. They are involved with my games."

Minicon politics were hard for deployers, but necessary, and she hadn't relished in thinking Drift's two partners had a crummy master. Far better to think they were in on the joke. 

Drift chose his words deliberately, "My circumstances during the war prepared me to live this lie... I have not always even been an Autobot. Once I was a Decepticon named Deadlock; I changed my designation, and fled the consequences of my actions, and the actions of our entire race."

Fracture whistled. Drift's double deception was more impressive, that he had escaped the punishment of defying Megatron _and_ the Council by donning this new identity. Grimlock wasn't getting to escape his old behavior, his old name, his criminal record, even with beautiful shiny Autobot decals and dedicated community service. This confession was more than an explanation of the Samurai Sensei performance, this was serious blackmail material, and a show of trust that she was awed to receive. 

Her, a Decepticon, his old enemy... And now he was giving her opportunities to betray him to the Council. Shit, he could end up in a stasis pod if the Council was angry enough. There hadn't been time to fully process it; all she knew was how she felt about Drift, a mingled admiration and lust for this scam he was pulling off, brazen, and risking his ass.

"You're too much, Drift." Fracture looked over as her minicons parked the ship, far from the rebuilt cities. "You two can take a break outside. Give us some peace. A _lot_ of peace. I'll call you on comm when we're finished." 

Drift took the cue, disconnecting his own minicons to stand guard outside the ship, and not to make trouble. Jetstorm, the wiseacre, was the last to leave and covertly touched the door-lock so that it sealed behind her: guaranteeing her master privacy with Fracture. 

Drift leaned down over his rival and kissed her, enacting the first of many previously fantasized moments, though in his fantasies she wasn't sore. He compensated and was very careful not to jostle her. She kissed back, licking along his teeth, exploring inside his mouth with a curving modded tongue that extended far back enough to deepthroat him, and enjoying being as audacious as she'd wanted to for a long time without the threat of his anger. He was into her! How many times would she need to think it before it stuck? He was making soft encouraging sounds as she fucked his fuel intake with her tongue, for Primus's sake.

"You're amazing," Drift marveled, after her tongue retreated, supporting her shoulders with one arm, and stroking down her chest under the water with the other hand, "I never imagined you could be harmed so badly. I was concerned, I thought I would not get this opportunity to tell you ..." 

"You talk _so much._ " Fracture teased, "How could you miss an opportunity to tell me anything? That you were a Decepticon? That you're into me? I want to pound you through the wall, Drift. I've been into you for a long time." 

Drift looked as flustered as she had felt, which she couldn't help feeling smug about, and the way his panels twitched betrayed that he wanted to do more than just kiss her, but he practiced self restraint. That seemed to be the realest thing about him, the way he could stay calm, and she guessed if it weren't real, he'd fall apart the first time someone challenged his act. But it had taken her years to suspect, so if he was distant, didn't talk often, maybe that was part of why. 

She wanted to penetrate his act, though. Among other things. 

"While we're letting secrets slip..." She pulled herself up from the tub, dripping, and drained it. There was only so much that could do for her, she'd need to heal on her own for a few weeks, so even if she couldn't get to see a doctor, Drift was right, she'd be in need of that bounty money. Mouths to feed didn't stop being hungry just because her body was out of whack, and she didn't fancy applying her skills at bountying with a damaged system. 

Drift waited for her, not offering his hand, knowing she was proud, and wanted to stand for herself, but he did keep a careful watch at her slow, stiff progress. 

"Nng. All right. I'm transgender." She leaned on the wall, toweling down her side, "Hope that won't be a problem either, and you'll still treat me like the lady I am." 

The samurai (was he a samurai?) absorbed the information, "Certainly I will, Fracture. They designated me female from the Well, but I have known for some time that they were mistaken. I do not feel wholly male, either, but I allow others to think what they will." 

Fracture blinked, offered a little smile, "Fuck. Drift. Are you too good to be true?" 

When he looked to be seriously considering it, she hastily moved across, "No, nevermind. Look. You accept me as I am, as a Decepticon, as a woman, as your rival, I can accept you, as a demiboy, ex Decepticon, however you are. We don't have to change much. Do you want to - we could see how this works, us together. We could be hot." 

It jumbled out less romantically than she'd planned it, but Drift helped her relax and be herself, that was the devil of it. Perhaps all along she'd picked up on little parts of his act. She certainly couldn't say that _self aggrandizing douchebag Autobot_ was high on her list of dateable, fuckable prospects. No, sir. 

"We could be very hot." Drift agreed, repeating the words with such a solemn air that both of them laughed suddenly, hers ragged and wheezy from the injuries, his low and huffing, like he was unpracticed with laughter. She could _love_ this fool, and he could love her, and the prospect, more than her moderate energon loss made her dizzy. She tugged him to her bed, slinking down onto the modest outcropping, and he dropped beside her. He was so tender and discerning, like he wanted to memorize every jagged armor plate, she knew he felt similar, this dangerous pull of extreme attachment. 

They kissed again, more slow and sensual than in the bath, and Drift began to explore her with his hands, as she dug her fingers into his plates and slipped below, tracing his biolights with keen interest and sharp pleasure. She mapped the body she'd always analyzed for weaknesses, now hunting for spots of interest that made him gasp, that made him smile and his engine purr. The docking stations where his minicons attached were vulnerable, she knew, but she didn't want to go for something so easy until he was in full goddamn rut, then she might lick at them a little just to crest his enjoyment that much more. 

His panels were heating, the way he pressed his modesty plate to hers and she could feel it scorching, moaned in welcoming and pressed her own closed panel back against him. She was surprised he'd be so lewd, but she shouldn't be, remembering that so much of him was withdrawn and unknown, and the way he was dry humping her now like a hungry, hot and bothered fuckpet was more authentic than his aloof sensei. 

She pulled at his shoulders, not in a position for strenuous physical activity this time but glad to participate regardless, she wasn't going to lie back and think of Iacon, gross. She bit his neck. 

"Hhhh," He managed, sucking in air with an impressive not-quite-gasp, and the reserve he usually had came back in full force as if in response to the lapse of control. She couldn't say she didn't take it as a challenge. 

"No, you are not doing that _mystic shit_ in bed," She ground up hungrily on him again, and his eyes widened, then narrowed slyly. 

"Am I not?" He asked, "You may think of it as my showing you how disciplined I can be." 

She had the sense she already knew plenty how disciplined he could be. But her sex mods were dripping and swelling and demanding that she take some kind of action to handle this. Or to get him to handle her, whichever came first. 

"Fine." She said, and opened her paneling. Underneath, a long, beautiful tendril uncoiled, with three small sensitive fronds at the tip. Along the underside were a row of barbell-punched piercings, a ladder of metal designed to conduct electricity up and down along the shaft. The tendril wrapped itself with delicate twining up Drift's fingers, and along his wrist, and tugged deliberately with prehensile skill.

Drift's eyes blazed bright with the attempt not to look incredibly impressed, and he managed to keep his mouth from opening too wide, but he was plainly struggling with the incredible potential of such a modification. Those end pieces stuffed up inside someone, stimulating like tiny fingers from within? Hell, the way the mod pulled and displayed dexterity, Drift suspected Fracture could play with a cybertronian's dick until they came using the tendril alone. 

"This is, very. Interesting." Drift managed, running his thumb up the row of barbell piercings, and Fracture was both pleased _and_ mock-distressed that he was maintaining his control and not flinging open his modesty panel like the gates of Rova to new traders. His fingers wrapped around the root of her tendril, stroking up and down the sides, building up static electricity that tingled pleasantly as he rubbed, and he turned his face back to hers, to watch her eyes.

She bit her lip at the attention he was giving her, not only downstairs but emotionally, watching her face, interested in her pleasure. Fuck. This was great, but she wanted better. She _deserved_ better, even if he made giving her a simple handie look so goddamn fine, she almost couldn't make herself say, "What about you?" 

Drift didn't hesitate, apparently it was not shyness but obliviousness that had induced him to keep himself closed up, and he opened his modesty plate to reveal a decently sized, but otherwise factory standard dick, and underneath, a slim cunt, with several curly painted pieces aesthetically not unlike his mustache and goatee. He painted his damn vagina. 

"Well." Fracture said approvingly, "I had no expectations, but you decorated." 

"I did. Sometimes others see it, but it is primarily for me." 

Fracture's expression at _sometimes others see it_ betrayed her amusement, and Drift wasn't offended. 

"It may surprise you to learn, I enjoy all kinds of sex." Drift told her conspiratorially, "Or, I did, when I was a sex-crazed Decepticon liable to sell my own partners into bondage for the opportunity to fuck. Now that I am an Autobot, I engage in quiet sex, with no noise, designed for procreation only--" 

Fracture's amusement was by that point so severe that her tentacle lost grip on Drift's hand and slipped away, stiffly bobbing to her trembly, husky laughs. "Fuck, fuck me. You're so right. That's exactly how they--oh, mercy. You need to publish some romance 'pads, get people off stereotypes." 

"I am an inside man." Drift agreed solemnly, "I know that the Decepticons are only a loose empire of orgies and sex slavery of innocent, virginal Autobots. It is a wonder anyone knows how to fire a weapon at all." 

Fracture started laughing again at how fucking ridiculous he sounded, how he maintained perfect poise spouting nonsense. 

"I love you." She blurted, and realized what she'd said, but Drift - amazingly, Drift covered for her, agreed with her. 

"I think I share your sentiment," He reached to twine her tendril in his hand again, romantic handjobs and all, "This feels like a great weight lifted off me, a privilege to be able to take care of you and show you who I am. Decepticon _and_ Autobot." 

She swallowed, her throat dry, and then levered herself up on the bed, leaning against the conveniently curving wall of her ship. Maybe _doesn't take advantage of my vulnerability_ was a low standard, but she found that Drift's honesty was the best thing about him. When he made these ridiculous claims, outside of that parody of himself, she really did take him seriously. She found the facade, the part that was playacting about himself, was easy to separate from the person underneath. 

"Put me in your mouth." She directed, with a curving grin. 

Drift's composure hung on barely, she could see in the twitch of his lips how eager he was, in the brief hesitation before he dipped his head between her legs and lapped up the tendril, welcoming it into the warmth of his mouth. Watching herself disappear between Drift's lips made her spark flare inside containment, the temperature climbing with rapid desire. 

This was even hotter than watching him fight - she slagged on him, but he was very skilled, just not in comparison to her, and with a self-trained style. She didn't know if he'd had experience with Cybertronian oral, but the way his tongue stroked the underside of her coiling tendril, feeling its way up between her piercings, he was _good._ Her vents stuttered as he went down even further, pushing her tendril to the back of his throat and tightening around the sensitive tips, like a fucking blowjob python, and her fingertips dug into the bed. 

She sighed rather than moan, allowing herself the concession and noting that - while he was betraying his eagerness with deep throating at once, he continued to maintain control over himself. His hands stayed at her hips, stroking her paneling there with his thumbs, he didn't touch himself or hump up against the bed, and she could see between his legs when he moved up to slowly lick from base to tip. Drift's pussy was coolant-swollen with his body's attempt to cool down the blazing array, and he dribbled excessive lube, the clear liquid glinting like dew against those silly, charming painted pieces. It betrayed how badly he wanted attention and made his mental composure even more intriguing. 

"That control of yours, must be impressive," She gasped, static fuzzing the edges of her usually strong consonants, "Not w-wanting to touch. Hmm? Don't you even a little?" 

Drift actually slurped, wrapping his mouth around more firmly and sucking strongly up the length of the shaft before lowering himself again with an audible, reverent kiss. He pressed his mouth up to the side of her tendril and spoke against it, "Very much. I merely want this more." 

The combination of his lips and his breath made her shudder, to say nothing of the words. Keen lust, visibly keen despite that he hadn't touched himself yet and didn't plan to, because he wanted to suck on her _more._ Trust her to challenge him with oral when he liked giving as much as she liked receiving. Her hands came down to stroke the sides of his head, running across the metal protrusions of his maedate, then cupping the sides of his face. He grunted amicably, otherwise unable to encourage while he hosted her thick tentacle halfway down his gullet to fuel storage, working his throat like a splendid suction device that she never wanted to leave. The vents in his sides opened slightly to 'breathe', encouraging her to linger. 

Fracture enjoyed touching his face, every bit as much as his talented mouth all over her. She wanted to possess him, in the same eager way that she took anything given to her quickly for fear it might be taken away again. This was better than she'd ever imagined, and _fuck_ , had she imagined some seriously interesting scenarios with her favorite rival, during private hours. 

When she slid free of his mouth again, he took the opportunity to kiss her once more, the curling tip, with incredible fondness. Fracture was relieved she hadn't cum, able to maintain at least that bragging right, but it wasn't fair, Drift had so much going for him. His smile, his skills, and Fracture's pre-established frienemy crush on him. 

"So, your control is impressive." She admitted, "But I hope you're not just holding back and being gentle with me because I'm sore."

She could tell by the shifting alchemy of his expressions that he had been, a _little_ , and figured it would be hard not to, if it was the first time he'd ever seen her hurt. "You will tell me, if you need me to be gentle, or more rough." He phrased it almost like a question. 

"Mmmhm." Fracture confirmed, shifting to wrap her legs around Drift's shoulders. "Making sure you're doing things this way because you want to. Because I absolutely want you to." Even if she'd been in top shape, there was something incredibly attractive about this big strong cybertronian enjoying giving her oral, being sweet like this. She liked it many different ways, of course, and next time--

It thrilled her to think there would be a next time, like an entirely new vista of opportunity had just opened up between them. Drift being who and what he was - they had so much to explore now. 

But thinking ahead to next time was difficult when Drift was back to kissing and playing with her tendril, not suckling it back in but stroking it one handed as his head dipped lower to press more kisses to her cunt, just underneath the thick tendril. Fracture's head tipped back, exposing her throat as she gasped, ankles tightening around Drift's back to keep him close. He showed no signs of wanting to move away, lapping lovingly at her pussy, lifting her lower body just slightly to improve his angle of entry. 

" _Drift._ " She moaned a name she hadn't dreamed of moaning in any positive sense prior to this moment, curling up tighter so that her hand could stay at the back of his head, her talons raking pleasantly across the back of his neck. She _felt_ more than heard him groan into her in response, and suspected it was Onyx Prime's own effort not to rub himself to completion. He had to be aching by now, desperate. She _hoped._

His mouth at her cunt was simultaneously too much and not enough, it felt fantastic, and lit tingling curling need in her, an area too often neglected on long, cold space flights. Drift was quiet but his technique was loud, sloppy in a way that betrayed enthusiasm, that was so hot and so contradictory and so _Drift_ , if she wasn't light in the processor she'd probably have had to laugh about it. 

"Mmmmnnn keep going. Like that," She directed him half with words and half with the motion of her hand, where to go and how to suck, nibble, lick, and lavish affection on her. The tendril, not bothered by the sudden neglect, wrapped around Drift's crest because it was conveniently there and also incredibly warm, was he blushing all over? He _was._ She suspected frotting up on his crest wasn't going to make it any easier for him, how was he staying so damned composed? 

Fracture could feel even when she closed her eyes to drink in the wonderful sensations that his hands didn't leave her sides, and there was no motion to indicate he was rubbing against the bed or even closing his legs in an attempt to generate friction. He gave himself _nothing,_ but he did clearly enjoy eating her out and sucking on her. 

Truthfully, she would have felt even a little _guilty_ if he hadn't made it so clear that he wanted to test his resolve, but even that was too much. She tugged lightly on his back shoulder plates, and he glanced up, interested. His face was gleaming with her lube, she could feel it slick between her legs, and the way he almost-smiled at her, like he knew exactly what he looked like and wanted it plain.... 

She encouraged Drift up onto her lap, and he relaxed his weight there experimentally. Her tendril coiled between them, stroking at his dick with all the swagger and assurance that Fracture herself possessed. She was lengthy enough to wrap up halfway, coil back down again and tease at the entrance to his own cunt, flicking the clit and even grabbing at it with the tri-frond tip. 

_Now_ his composure was beginning to evaporate, and he curled his fingers in the bed beside her as his hips shook, with the urge to twitch forward, trembling. "Aahh..." He breathed just so, if she hadn't been listening for the sigh it might not have registered as one, but his venting was definitely _off_ now and the look in his eyes was mingled relief at the attention and heavily whetted desire. How long he'd put it off, to focus on her! 

"Oh, Drift," She was sweeter now, happy that the game had been a challenging one but happier still to win it at the end, the _glee_ of watching his lips part and nothing coming out, because he didn't trust his voice with his dick squeezed and stroked like that, his cunt feather-light tormented so good, _so good_ , just the way she would like it. And her hands free to stroke his chest lights, tap against the light glass and send little frissons of bliss up and down his spinal strut. She coiled more of the tendril, tight, pulling down on his dick to gain the slack that gave his cunt more attention, and noted with amusement that he loved that, burying his head by her neck and making a low, needy sound. 

She pressed her tri-frond array up into his cunt, feeling it squeeze and explore eagerly and knowing the twining outside was giving his clit ample friction to work with. His hips did move, that time, slow at first, half a dozen slow, dreamy jerks forward, and then two greater motions, encouraging, and she felt a sudden squeezing around the sensitive tips that enticed her conveniently to come as well. Drift's hand found hers in a surprisingly romantic gesture and he was kissing her neck instead of biting it, not that teeth curved like his would do a great deal to her neck armor, but it was sweet and odd and soft and the big lummox was actually incredibly endearing. 

"Mmm," She lay in a pleasant haze, glad that he'd waited so long so that it looked easy to tease him to coming, not sure she had the energy this time for anything strenuous but happy to plot future sessions in which they went more acrobatic, maybe raced, the adrenaline was a great enhancer. 

"Excellent performance," She said mindfully, thrilling in her awareness of his _other_ performance. The confession, the power, meant more than something she could use on him - it meant he wanted to be with her, and he wanted to _give_ her that power over him. Vulnerability with the expectation of safety. This was the basis of a relationship! 

Her bed didn't usually feel this comfortable, her limbs didn't usually feel this wonderfully heavy, and she didn't usually hear the bathing facilities used when she wasn't in them... But Drift politely excused himself to clean up, and didn't seem embarrassed by his lapse of discipline, so she could count this one a win. 

Four thousand exchange units for the Huntpecker bounty, and Drift's mystery solved, and Drift himself an enthusiastic repeat lover. 

Definitely a win.


End file.
